


Only For Your Cold Ghost

by 221blackandwhitestripes



Series: The Sound Of Your Heart [11]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dreams vs. Reality, Hallucinations, Hallucinogens, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Medication, Mental Breakdown, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:56:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221blackandwhitestripes/pseuds/221blackandwhitestripes
Summary: “You said you’d kill me if I messed up.” Ed shrugged. His bottom lip was trembling. Stupid. “Just… just making sure you follow through.” He let out a laugh and his cheek was wet again. “You win!”The figure pinched its brow and sighed. “For fuck’s sake, Edward, there are more important things in life than winning.”“Are there?” Ed laid back until his head knocked against wood. “That’s nice.”
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: The Sound Of Your Heart [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1018875
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Only For Your Cold Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Serious warnings for Ed having a bit of a breakdown in this fic that results in drug misuse and suicidal ideation. I'm sorry if that is a lot for some people, and I understand if you want to skip this one and wait for the next update. That's totally fine by me.
> 
> Song of choice: [Molecules](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2EGIjdDZfJE) by _Hayley Kiyoko_

_Pillars of my heart_  
_Everything got shattered in the dark_  
_Tried to be evolved_  
_Does it really matter at all?_  
_Feathers on the red bed_  
_Messy on the floorboards_  
_Data in my head_  
_Gets caught up in the drug stores_  
_Make me feel again_  
_Make me feel again_  
_(I’ve lost you, I’ve lost you)_  


“Am I good to go, doc?” Ed’s sky was melting into black and blue.

“Dunno, Eddie.” A grin scraped against his ear. “Got some major bruising there, bucko. Might wanna see someone about that.”

He pressed a hand against his side and hissed. “Bruised ribs. You’re right. Might even be broken.”

“Might even be.” The grin switched to the other ear, two hands pressing against his back to give him a _shove_. “Let’s go do something about it.”

He nodded to himself.

Ed had guns. And they were in his apartment. And he was in a car.

“I’m going to drive home.”

The grin turned to a chuckle. “You do that.”

At home, Ed found things different than he remembered.

“Someone’s been here.” He tried to tilt his head but he found himself falling, doubling over, almost crashing to the ground.

“Woah there!” The hands on his shoulders steadied him. “None of that. Not yet.”

“M-my stuff’s missin’,” Ed slurred and the world tried to rise up to meet his face again.

“Stop it!” The grin turned to a sneer. “It’s in your bag, remember! You left it at–”

Ed slammed a hand over his mouth so the voice in his throat would stop speaking. _I know where it is. I know._

His gun was still in the side table where he’d left it, safety clipped into place.

“What’re going to do with that?”

Ed glared at the mirror. “Well, I don’t have any money, so what’s the alternative?”

The mirror wrinkled its eyebrows. “Well, what about that?” He followed its eyes to his hand.

The ring-box.

“True.” Ed set his jaw. “But…”

The reflection raised an eyebrow. “But..?”

“...But I’m still bringing the gun.” He turned away as he pushed it into the elastic band at the back of his trousers.

It stayed there, pressed between his lower back and the driver’s seat as Ed stepped on the gas and watched the city lights _swirl_.

“Focus.”

“I am.” He wasn’t.

“Left here.”

Ed stopped outside the drug store and wiped his brow. His hand came back damp and he silently cringed, wiping it on his pant leg.

“Imagine what he’d say if he could see you now.” That grin snickered in his ear. “I bet Os–”

Ed slapped his hand over his mouth again, Getting up and out of the car to lock it one-handed. His hand twitched, asking for release. Ed refused.

“Like that would be able to actually stop me,” His mouth moved against his palm, “I don’t need to move lips to be heard.”

Ed removed his hand “But it would be far less annoying.”

Breath tickled his ear and he heard the whisper, “I know.”

He rolled his eyes and pushed past the feeling like it was the glass door of the drug store. He carefully looked around. The place was pretty deserted. Ed glanced at the sign. “Closed”. Well, that would explain it.

Wait. What time was it?

Ed could have sworn he’d arrived back home sometime in the early morning. But, it certainly wasn’t morning anymore. The _streetlights_ were on.

“Excuse me, we’re closed.”

Ed blinked himself back into the present, reaching for his gun. “Yeah, I noticed but–”

“Oh fuck, not you again.”

Ed stopped with his hand halfway up his back, clutching the pistol. “Huh?”

“Look, buddy, I told you before, our supply barely covers people _with_ a prescription.” The pharmacist pushed his glasses up in frustration.

Ed just blinked.

“Okay, okay, well we still have some oxycodone in the _back_ back, but you can’t take them until you’ve finished all of the fentanyl. Okay?”

“The…” His brain was _buzzing._ Or maybe that was laughing?

“Oh shit. You took all the fentanyl already, didn’t you?” The man shook his head.

“I-I…” Ed cleared his throat. “I need some pain meds for my ribs. I think they’re bruised.” He brought out the pistol. “A-and I have a gun.”

The man’s brow quirked behind his glasses. “I know you have a gun.” Ed blinked. “And I thought you said your rib was _broken._ ”

Ed poked his ribs and felt the _tweak_ like the pluck of a breaking string. “W-well, I’m not an expert.” He looked at the pharmacist again. “So, can I have some drugs, please?”

The man tilted his head. “I-I’ll go get them.” He frowned. “You sure you’re okay, buddy?”

Ed didn’t remember saying he was okay, but he nodded anyway. “Yeah.” He blinked. The world was blurry here. “H-have I been here before?”

The doctor frowned, causing his glasses to slip down his nose slightly. He adjusted them. “You were here this morning.”

Ed’s heart thudded in his ears. _You were here this morning._ His mouth formed an O, his hand moving in slow motion to push his fingers behind his frames and into his eyes. Until they decided to do a magic trick, and were at his sides instead. Because he was tied up! No, tied _down_. To a chair! A helpless little chair, desperate to get away, shuffling across the harbour…

Right into the water below.

“I’m just scratching, asshole!” His mouth mumbled and Ed blinked, noticing the soft scrape of fingernails through his shirt. He blinked again. Two more times. It was light outside again. And the Pharmacist looked like he’d just said something and was looking for a response. “Huh?”

“I said that you _had_ been here before: Yesterday morning and again last night.”

_What?_

Ed stumbled backwards. “I-I thought you said I came here this _morning_ , I–”

“It _is_ the morning.” The Pharmacist pointed outside, “Remember?”

And there was the exact problem: he didn’t.

He stood there, swallowing stale air and trying not to pull at his delicate seams. The pharmacist looked on with a grimace on his face, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Look… why don’t I just go get that buprenorphine for you?”

“I didn’t ask–” but he stopped himself, realizing he probably _did_. “Yes please, I’d appreciate that.”

Had his ribs somehow gotten worse? He had to keep himself from hissing just from turning to watch the pharmacist walk away.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Nothing.” The grin grazed his cheek this time. “What would possibly lead you to fear that something is wrong?”

Ed turned and glared. “What are you doing to me?”

It shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You _do_ ,” Ed hissed, hands in his hair. “STOP LYING TO ME!”

That grin turned sour. “You’re a fucking _hypocrite_ and you know it.”

Ed’s jaw clenched before he told it to.

“You think you can bake your cake and eat it too. But that’s not how life works, bucko!” It waved its hands, eyes flashing. “You can’t just shove things under the welcome rug and expect everyone to be okay stepping over it on the way through the door.”

“Here.” Another bottle of pills appeared in his hand. Ed stared at it.

“Go on.” The figure crossed his arms. “Swallow your cocktail just like the one before it. I’m sure it’ll solve everything. Hopefully, an overdose will take this time.”

The bottle was half empty now.

“I mean, that’s what you really want, right?”

Only a few left now.

“To disappear? Delete yourself from existence?”

The empty bottle slipped through his shaking fingers, hitting the floor with a hollow sound.

“Believe me. We both want that.”

Ed blinked. His limbs were growing colder and he couldn’t move, couldn’t turn his head. He was glued in place, eyes staring listlessly at the blue sky above him. Until a face appeared,pushing through cloud.

“O-Oswald.” His chest moved and he breathed again. “Oswald?”

The man spat in his eye, picked up a handful of dirt and dropped it on his face. Ed sputtered, spitting out a worm. “Oswald?” Another pile of dirt: bigger this time, mounting higher and higher, and the sky was disappearing into it and Ed was disappearing too, buried deep, deep, _deep_ , far beneath the Earth where no one could find him anymore.

“Rest in peace, Edward Nygma.”

Ed gasped awake, eyelashes fluttering. He took in the ceiling, blurry above him, his sheets a tangled, sweaty mess.

A dream. It was… it must have been a dream.

Ed reached blindly towards his nightstand, feeling around for where his glasses should be.

He found an empty pill bottle instead.

He jerked his hand back like he’d been given an electric shock. But the damage had been done. Reality had been compromised. And when he did move his shaking fingers over the frames of his glasses and pushed them onto his nose, he realized that he might not be okay anymore.

When he vomited, it was on a pile of emptied bottles, boxes and foils. Multi-coloured spheres floated to the surface, causing him to vomit again.

He coughed, wiping his mouth and nose with a tissue. His head swam while his bones shook. He clutched his side through his shirt. Something shifted beneath the fabric.

He had to shuffle around and lean against the headboard, but he was eventually able to work his shirt up high enough to see the bandages and taped-up ribs. It took him a minute, but he eventually asked the question. “Did you do this?”

“Yes.” It was a nod. “I did.”

Ed needed a shower. Or a bath. Just the sensation of water sluicing over his body, head to toe. The cold. The wind.

His hand closed around the keys and he just went with it.

“You shouldn’t be driving.” It sat in the back seat, a permanent ghost. “You’re barely hanging on.”

Ed made it to the harbour anyway. Toed off his shoes. “I just need a really good bath,” he whispered. “It’s just a really long bath.” Stared at the water.

He deserved it so he jumped.

 _Blink_ , he was on the floor and he was shivering, _dripping_ , like a hallucination or an obscene excuse for a mistake that shouldn’t have been born in the first place.

Something wrapped a towel around him. It might have been his arms. 

Ed closed his eyes, listing his body to the side. The shivering continued, but he ignored it.

“Why did you do that?”

“I just needed a bath.” He refused to open his eyes.

“Bullshit. You’d get cleaner having sex with a trash can.”

Ed shrugged. “Maybe.”

It scowled, crossing its arms. “Get up.”

He kept his eyes closed, nestling his cheek into the wall. “Not right now.”

“GET UP!”

Ed’s knee instinctively jerked, but he ignored it. “I’ll get up when I’m ready.” Something hot and wet slid down his icy cheek.

 _Keep me wide awake_  
_Every cell, I feel your body ache_  
_Can we start the fall?_  
_Does it really matter at all?_  
_Feathers on the red bed_  
_Messy on the floorboards_  
_Data in my head_  
_Gets caught up in the drugstores_  
_Make me feel again_  
_Make me feel again_  


Ed glanced up when he heard a sigh, watching apprehensively as the figure sat down beside him.

“I guess we’re just going to stay here then.”

Ed frowned, scratching his arm. His skin was still cool to the touch, struggling to warm from the friction. He was actually… really cold. And he smelled funky. Something was seriously wrong with Gotham’s river water.

“Sure you don’t want to go have a warm shower?” It raised an eyebrow.

Ed’s lips twisted. “...No.”

It shrugged. “Okay then.”

Minutes ticked by. Ed’s stomach grumbled. He thought about shooting it to keep it quiet.

“I guess that’ll just solve everything,” the figure observed dryly. “Shall I go find a length of rope long enough for a noose? Or would you rather I pushed you down the stairs, made it look like an accident. Or we could always set ourselves on fire! Go down in flames in the most literal sense. Poetry and shit.”

Ed glared at it. “What’s your point?”

“My point _is_ ,” it rattle-snake hissed, “You feel like shit. You want to undo everything that happened!”

“And?” Ed sniffed, wiping his nose. “Don’t you?”

“Of fucking _course,_ I do.” It rolled its eyes. “It was a fucking mess. But guess what? Dying isn’t going to undo it. Neither is sitting here and punishing ourselves by… freezing to death? Catching a cold? Letting the river disease infect us.” It tilted its head. “What exactly is the plan here?”

Ed looked up at the ceiling and sniffed again. “Just fulfilling your wish, I guess?”

“What wish?” It scoffed.

“You said you’d kill me if I messed up.” Ed shrugged. His bottom lip was trembling. Stupid. “Just… just making sure you follow through.” He let out a laugh and his cheek was wet again. “You win!”

The figure pinched its brow and sighed. “For fuck’s sake, Edward, there are more important things in life than _winning._ ”

“Are there?” Ed laid back until his head knocked against wood. “That’s nice.”

It sighed. “I’m going to pretend you asked me ‘like what’, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Like fucking _surviving_ , Ed.” It snapped its fingers in his eyes, and Ed batted at them like they were a fly. “You made a mistake, a _few_ mistakes, all of them fucking _whoppers_. But, what? You're just gonna dig a grave and let it defeat you.”

“At this point?” Ed ran his fingers along the grooves in his wooden floor. “Yes.” 

“And the idea that you could fix it without killing yourself is..?”

“Too hard,” Ed told it. “I’m just… too tired.”

It rolled its eyes. “You and me both. Doesn’t mean I’m going to fucking watch you waste your life when you could be… trying. _Something._ For god’s sake.”

Ed shrugged. “I don’t even know where to start.”

The figure clenched its jaw, running a hand through its hair anxiously. “You’ll never get better if you stay like this.”

“So?” Ed giggled. “Who says I need to?”

“Dammit, _I_ do, Ed,” it sighed, getting to its feet. “The other one fucking talking you into this shit, I can’t believe it.” 

Ed didn’t know who the ‘other one’ was,but he didn’t really have the brain to care.

The figure began to pace back and forth. “I just have to get you away from this place. It’s just going to make it worse, living in a place that reminds you of all the mistakes you’ve made.”

“Thanks for pointing that out to me!” Ed giggled. “I feel a lot better now!”

“Shut up!” The figure snapped. “We need to have a shower before we go out.”

“We’re going out?” Ed laughed. His eyes were still wet, still stinging.

“Yes,” it said, and suddenly Ed was up on his feet again. “I have a plan.”

And under the hot steam spray, it tried its damnedest to wash the cold away.

?¿?¿?

“What are we doing here, exactly?”

“We’re putting on a show.” And the reflection in his rearview mirror tipped its hat. “ _Riddler_.”

Gotham City Police Station loomed one block away, buzzing with activity. Ed had seen on the news that they were still rounding up the infected from all over the city. The Tetch virus was spreading like… well, a _virus._ As he stepped out of his car and adjusted his bright green suit, he could see the vetting station set up on the sidewalk, testing for the virus. Security details stood on both sides, guns and handcuffs ready.

“How are we getting in?” Ed whispered.

“Through the front door, silly,” the voice whispered in his ear, “We don’t have the virus, remember?”

“But won’t they know I’m coming?” he muttered, striding towards the crosswalk.

“That’s the plan, yep.”

Ed frowned, but decided to accept it nonetheless.

In the decontamination tent, they checked his eyes and blood pressure for signs of the virus, then wrote down his name and address.

“Is that really all you check?” He questioned, raising a brow. “You don’t need to take some blood or something?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Nygma,” the nurse sighed, “The virus’s ill-effects appear far quicker than it takes to test your blood.” She wrote something down on her clipboard then tore off a coloured band from the roll she had beside her. “Put this on your wrist and you can go in.”

Ed scowled at the thing. “This isn’t a swimming pool.”

“Still need it to get in.” The nurse didn’t look up from her clipboard. “You may leave now.”

Ed rolled his eyes and put his suit jacket back on, internally groaning as it clashed with the bright pink band. Presentation be damned, he had a show to put on, so he walked up to the next officer, presenting the band for his judgemental eyes until he was let in the door. _Finally._

He pushed into the bullpen and then immediately stepped back. This was not the mapped-out punctuality of organized chaos: A train station timetable that is perfectly functional despite the ten thousand trains on one hundred tracks going thirty different directions. No, this bullpen was the deep end of an unsupervised swimming pool. The darkest part of an ocean trench. The moment where a body is released to space and torn between explosion, implosion, freezing or burning.

It was purgatory.

“Oh dear.” Police officers were running back and forth, shouting to each other. Some had guns pointed at virus victims who raged against their captures, hissing slurs and venom like savages. They were all savages. The cells that lined the walls were filled to the brim, not one person inside them without a cut or a bruise, although some clutched their limbs in terrorized pain while others ignored it in favour of screaming blue murder. “Oh dear.”

“It’s fine,” his lips whispered, “Keep cool. I have a plan.”

“Care to share it?” Ed murmured as inconspicuously as possible. Not that anyone was paying him any attention.

“We’re looking for Jimbo.”

“Detective Gordon?” Ed’s upper lip curled. “ _Really?_ ”

“You’re going to enjoy this, I promise you.” The voice assured him. “Go ask her!” His eyes shifted to a woman who was straightening her black curls as she rushed to the front desk. “She’s free. She’ll know where he is.”

“Fine,” Ed sighed, using his longer strides to catch up with her. “Excuse me, officer…” 

“Mccloud,” she finished for him. She took a moment to look him up and down. “Um… can I help you?”

“I’m looking for detective Gordon,” Ed gave his most menacing grin, “And no; I don’t have an appointment.”

She blinked at him before shrugging. “He’s in the captain’s office, but I personally wouldn't go in–”

“Thank you.” He brushed past her and headed up the stairs, narrowly avoiding a virus victim who sent a fist flying in his direction. He swallowed, straightening his tie. He glanced down as he stopped at the office door, noting that his thumb had brushed across something metallic when he’d touched his tie. Oh. He was wearing a tie pin.

 _That_ tie pin. Golden, curved question mark. Hand picked. A gift.

“Concentrate, Riddler.” But Ed had already forgotten how to think.

 _“Really, Ed, for a man who spends time pilfering priceless paintings, you sure keep the purse strings tight.”_ Oswald had grinned at his own joke before leaning closer, straightening Ed’s tie like it had ever been crooked. _“Or do you just like to be spoiled by little old me?”_

“For fuck’s sake,” his mouth muttered, hand independently knocking on the door and walking inside without waiting for an answer. “Your turn, buddy.” And Ed got a feeling like he was being pushed forward.

He blinked and tried to focus. “I’m here to bring a special birthday gift to a lucky boy!” he sang. “Is little Jimbo here?”

“Nygma.” Ed’s grin lost some of its stamina. Jim was looking at him kinda funny.

“Okay, now, do it,” his mind whispered.

“Do what?” he whispered back.

“This.” And suddenly his whole body was moving, throwing all his weight into probably the first right hook Ed had ever thrown that actually landed.

“Holy…” Ed stared at his fist for a long moment. It hurt like _hell_ , but it felt…

“Amazing!” The voice hissed in satisfaction.

Ed grinned, glancing up. Then stopping still. “Oh dear.” Gordon’s eyes weren’t their usual shade of blue anymore. No sir. And Ed realised what he’d missed when he’d first come in here. “Um.” He shot a look at the door. “Well, I better be–” But the fist around his throat crushed the words out of him.

“Jesus, Jim!” Harvey tried to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but it didn’t seem to do much. 

Jim’s hand was not like Oswald’s. There was no trace of hesitancy in this grip. No line that shouldn’t be crossed.

He was going to kill him.

Ed smiled. “F-finally.” 

“Jim!” Harvey shouted, suddenly wrenching Jim away. Oxygen flooded Ed’s system as he fell to his knees, all energy focused on _breathing_. “Look, I wanna throttle Nygma as much as the next guy, but ya probably shouldn’t kill him.”

Ed coughed, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “Oh my.” He was almost hyperventilating, head swimming. “So,” he looked at the warped figure standing in the corner of his eye, “What’s the escape plan?”

The figure folded its arms. It seemed resigned.

“What is it?” Ed hissed desperately.

“This is the escape plan,” it stated.

“What?” The lack of oxygen must’ve muddled his brain.

“It’s not the oxygen. We came here because I can’t trust you not to off yourself when I’m not looking,” the figure’s eyes were even darker than Jim’s. “Enjoy Arkham.”

“No!” Ed staggered to his feet, “No!”

He tried to run. He did. But his feet wouldn’t move. He windmilled his arms, tried to push, tear his feet away from the floor, do _something._ Nothing happened.

“Oh.” Ed realized; “This must be a _nightmare.”_

_The figure shook its head. “This isn’t a dream. It’s real.”_

_“I can do this,” Ed hissed, “If this is a dream then it means it's in my head. And I have control of whatever is in my head.” The figure sighed and tutted, shaking its head. “I can **move** my **feet**.”_

_“Nygma.” Harvey walked up to him. “Hands.”_

_“No!” Ed swatted at him. “I’m not going to Arkham!” He was aware that he looked ridiculous, only able to move the top half of his body, but it was a dream so it didn’t matter._

_Harvey sighed, snatching his left wrist in a death grip. Ed whimpered. “What are you doing here, Nygma?” The sound of the cuff clicking into place was deafening._

_“Winning,” his mouth answered for him, and Ed couldn’t even move his arms now, the right wrist not resisting the other cuff. His eyes met his own in the reflective surface of the office’s dirty window. “I’m winning.”_

_Ed looked around. The world moved in slow motion as Harvey inched him outside, slothed him down the stairs, pushed him into a cell. It seemed surreal, but; “This is_ n’t a dream, is it?”

His mouth grinned. **It** had the power now. “No. It isn’t.”

_So what should I do?_  
_All that's left is molecules of you_  
_Tried to rearrange_  
_Did you feel that everything was strange?_  
_Dancing in the red rain_  
_Tied up to the bedpost_  
_Falling like a tear stain_  
_Only for your cold ghost_  
_Make me feel again_  
_Make me feel again_  
_(I've lost you, I've lost you)_  


**Author's Note:**

> ...Sorry for the angst. I promise that things will get better from here. Imma send Ed to therapy, get him all kinds of help. It'll be great!
> 
> As for the next update, it's about halfway done and looking pretty good from my standpoint. A bit of surprise plot, I hope you'll enjoy!
> 
> Also, I started a Discord server! If you're interested, feel free to comment down below and I'll send you an invite!
> 
> Thank's a bunch everybody!


End file.
